


Portrait of a Man

by deadestbreadest



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Immortal Merlin (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:14:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22453237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadestbreadest/pseuds/deadestbreadest
Summary: The portraits of the Headmasters relay stories of a mysterious and powerful man who appears every couple of centuries to renew the ancient wards of Hogwarts.It's all very exciting.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 416





	Portrait of a Man

The portraits knew him the best. Or at least, knew of him the best. Many portraits outdated the ghosts populating the school and therefore had witnessed more and had more stories to tell.

Most times he took the guise of a young boy, tall and slender with a shock of dark black hair. He is so full of magic that even the portraits can feel when he visits, though he'll usually tone it down when he arrives, as if he is announcing his arrival to those that can witness.

"Ah, it's about that time, isn't it?" The older headmaster portraits alerted the newer portraits and the current headmaster, who have yet to experience him.

Because, you see, he won't actually announce himself. He won't talk to anyone, or rarely so. He is simply making his rounds, as it were. Portraits in other countries, in other magical places, schools, hospitals, et cetera, will tell you of him too.

His arrival isn't a bad thing. Quite the opposite. He would re-lay the ancient wards and runes. Checking every one known and unknown, weaving protection into every stone.

"You know, I've seen him smile once," one of the older headmaster's portraits, a woman with long dark hair, started. All but the newest portraits groaned and immediately started complaining and arguing.  
"Oh here we go, can we not start with this story again? Can somebody else start for once?"  
"It's one of the few stories we actually have of him interacting with people!" Another protested back, "It's a very sweet story!"  
The soft voice of the headmaster cut through, "I would like to hear it, please."  
"That settles it! The year was 1322 and I was making my nightly rounds, checking for students out of bed. I was the herbology professor then-"

\--  
Professor Spore had heard voices coming from a courtyard corridor and quietly made her way towards them, determined to send the students back to their dormitories when she was stopped by The Grey Lady. "Phyllida, no," she told her, "let this one be. Simply watch, please. It's been so long." The ghost looked sad and pleading.

So she stayed back and looked at the two students. One was clearly an ornery young Gryffindor and the other was dressed plainly and had a look of faint amusement to his angular face.  
She cast a quick charm so she could be invisible and one to hear them better from the distance they were at. She then clearly heard the young boy mid rant.

"And he won't even talk to me anymore! Just because I gave him that donkey curse when we were fighting!" His arms flew up in the air in exasperation, "I didn't realize I had cast it improperly! I was upset! It had to wear off on its own because of that and it's not like it was a week! It was two days! And it was hilarious! And he deserved it the- the-"  
"Clotpole?" the other provided.  
"Yes! That's it! He's a giant clotpole!"  
"Obviously," the man laughed, "But that still doesn't explain why you were trying to leave the school."  
The young Gryffindor looked at him, annoyed, "Because why would I even want to be here if he won't talk to me!" he deflated, "He's my best friend and he wouldn't even listen to me when I tried to tell him I saw a talking dragon!"

The man looked down at him, seriously, with a simple "Ah. I see." The man sat and thought for a few moments and turned to the sulking child and said, "Bring him here."  
"What? How? He won't listen to me! How would I get him here?"  
"Bonds like that do not break from one disagreement. He is still your friend and you are his. Go wake him up and bring him here. Trust me." The man's eyes sparkled with mischief as he sent the boy away to collect his friend. "I want to show you two something fun."

When he returned a short while later with an older, surlier looking Gryffindor boy, the man stood and clapped his hands "Right! Follow me, children!"  
"Hey! Who is this guy? Who are you! Why did you drag me out of bed in the middle of the night to meet some strange," he eyed the man up and down, "Seventh year? Eighth year? Are you even a student here? None of us should be out of bed!"  
"I'm older than I look! And your questions are currently irrelevant!" The man said indignantly. "Come on, then! She's waiting for us. I've already told her I'm bringing guests!" He looked gleeful as he started pushing the two students towards the Forbidden Forest. He locked eyes with the invisible Professor and winked.

"Should we stop this?" Professor Spore asked the Grey Lady from their hiding spot.  
"Oh heavens no. I think we should follow. This promises to be fun. He looks happier than I've seen him in ages."  
"Who is he? He's obviously not a student or a faculty member."  
"Oh he's far more important than any of that."  
And that was that. They followed the trio as the two Gryffindors whispered frantically back and forth, arguing, about following a random madman into the woods.

She wasn't prepared for what she saw. The white dragon was massive and beautiful. The man approached it, casually stroking her snout, oblivious to the fact that he could die at any moment and had brought it three snacks.

The younger boy was equally oblivious to this fact and was practically vibrating with excitement as he rattled off rapid-fire questions to the man.  
"Oh my god, how old is she? What breed is she? How is she so tame?" He turned to his shocked, frozen friend, "I told you I saw a dragon!"

His friend replies woodenly, "You told me you saw a talking dragon."

"But I do speak, little one," the dragon spoke with a soft, lilting voice that vibrated into you with every syllable. "To answer your questions, young one, I am far too old, but not nearly as old as this one," she said nodding at the man, who was now smirking as he was leaned against a nearby tree. 

"I, like him, am the last of my kind, and am not like what you know to be dragons. They are not true dragons like I am."

"Are you going to eat us?" The older boy asked, he glanced over at the man, "Did you bring us here to feed your dragon?"

"It has been nearly a millenia since I have harmed the flesh of men," the dragon responded cooly, "I was a child then, confused by rage, and led astray into a war I had no part in. You are safe with me. Now I have a question for you, child."

The older boy stiffened.

"Why are you here?" she asked him.

It obviously wasn't a question either child expected to come from the dragon.  
"Well," the boy shuffled his feet, unsure, "he asked me to, didn't he?" He gestured at his younger friend who beamed back at him.

"A simple response. Good. Frienship is a true motivator in all things. You were angry with him. It is easy to be angry, but not as easy to forgive. You must learn to live true and live deep as I have learned. It is a hard lesson that I know well, but you are doing better than I did already." The dragon shared a knowing look with the man.

The man then joyfully interrupted the impromptu counseling session, "Now, who wants to learn some fun spells you can use to prank your classmates?"

Professor Spore and the Grey Lady watched as the man, wide-smiled, taught them charms for changing hair color and hexes for sneezing out bat-shaped bogeys. His eyes glowed gold as he wandlessly cast the spells and talked the boys through them. He laughed when they got the spells correct.  
She wouldn't realize until centuries after her death, as a portrait on a wall, that the truly special thing in this memory was not the talking dragon or the wandless magic, but the laughter and joy radiating from the man as he taught mischievous spells to children.

\--

The portraits began to share stories and myths in earnest. Most about having seen the man in passing only, eyes glowing gold as fingers dragged across the walls while he walked the corridors and sang enchantments into the walls, dripping with power as he went.

\--

"Everard, you actually interacted directly with him once when you were headmaster, right?"

A portrait of an old man, perked up slightly, preparing himself to share. "Yes, I was, friend. He was the one who brought the mirror of Erised to our doors. It had been wreaking unexpected havoc for such a benign sounding enchantment. The official reports say that nobody knows how Hogwarts came to house it. That it came here on its own or somesuch nonsense. He apparated directly into The Department of Mysteries where the Unspeakables were trying to figure it out without becoming lost in it, and he took it.

"He told them, sternly, like an upset father, that this was for their own good!" Everard laughed.  
"He brought it directly to me in this office. You lot," he said motioning at his predecessors in their frames, "were in a right tizzy when he showed up talking to me like it was a regular Sunday meeting.

"He was all bearded, an old man just like myself, and all business as he explained things to me. The mirror was too dangerous to be out in the world. He put it in the Room of Requirement. He told me that magic and destiny demanded it be at Hogwarts. I asked him if he had gazed upon the mirror.

"He said that if he were to look into that mirror that he would never leave it for the shame and sorrow of all the losses and failures he could have stopped were he a better man. He dared not to tempt himself while he had bigger duties to attend to."

\--

"I think I've met him." An unexpected voice said, almost to itself. It was the portrait of Headmistress McGonagall, the one who lived through both wizarding wars and helped rebuild after fighting in the famous Battle of Hogwarts.

Every portrait went quiet as they waited for her to continue.

\--

She woke up suddenly. It'd been about a month since The Battle of Hogwarts and she doubted she would ever sleep any way other than lightly again. She rushed to the courtyard, a few other faculty and ministry members who had remained at the castle to help repair it were close behind her. She had never felt something so intensely, purely magical in her life. It overwhelmed her and worried her. Surely Voldemort had not returned. It didn't feel dark like his magic. Quite the opposite. It filled her soul with light and energy.

When they arrived to the front courtyard of the castle, she wasn't sure what they were witness to.

A large, golden, glowing mass floated in the center, reaching tendrils of magic out towards the castle. It mended walls, objects, and wards as it flowed over every inch of the castle.

It spoke, echoing deeply and directly into their minds, an apology. "I am sorry. It was not in my power to help before now. This destiny was not mine to correct, stop, or guide. I must follow the laws of the Old Religion, but this I can do for you."

The light had restored Hogwarts completely. They had all assumed it was the intrinsic magic of the school, brought to life through tragedy. However, now that Minervra thought back she could make out the shape of a young man in the center of the powerful mass of magic.

\--

"I think I should go greet him." The headmaster declared.

They walked out of the office to the sound of dozens of protesting portraits.

The headmaster found the mysterious and powerful man in the Great Hall of all places, having a friendly chat with Peeves the poltergeist. The most surprising part was that they didn't realize Peeves was even capable of conversing like a civilized being.

"Oh this has been the most absolute fun ever living here, Emrys!"  
"I had hoped that when I placed you here in that new form all those centuries ago that you would adapt well. I trust you've been behaving? Not stealing any gold, are you? What is it they call you again?"  
"Peeves!" The man, Emrys, laughed hard at that.  
"Oh, that's perfect. You certainly annoyed me enough when we first met."  
"I was a different person then. Different goals. Different soul. Different body. Different existence. This is way better! I get to prank people all the time! Do whatever I want, really!"  
"Tell me about your favorite pranks, then."

The headmaster, while intrigued to learn more, interrupted.  
"Hello. I hear you are an old friend of Hogwarts."

Emrys didn't even startle at the addition of another person, turned to the headmaster with a smile and said, "Oh yes. I'm its first friend, in fact! And you are the first person in this school's history to actually approach me instead of watching me from a distance."

He gave the headmaster a wry look, "I bet those dusty portraits up there have been telling stories ever since they felt me coming. Care to join us? I'd like to catch up with my friend here before I work on the wards and such."  
"That sounds lovely."  
They sat down as Emrys' eyes glowed that eerie gold and two goblets of juice appeared in front of them.  
Peeves turned to the headmaster and started, "Did you know that I used to be a goblin?"


End file.
